


Vienna

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: Where Villanelle is sure she’s on a business trip until suddenly she isn’t
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 427
Kudos: 562





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whilst I don’t indulge in Twitter beyond casual lurking (I’m neither pithy nor angry enough) I do know there’s a lot of general horridness at the moment. 
> 
> So although this story is still cooking and I won’t be able to update it as frequently as I normally do, I did want to post something because whilst there is clearly a lot of ...unpleasantness....there seem to be a lot of normal (ish) people who read these stories who aren’t that.
> 
> So I hope this is enjoyed as a taster, and for those who have been upset by all the horridness lately, I hope this cheers you up a little.
> 
> UPDATE: Literally the whole point of me posting this was to get away from the unpleasantness. So please be aware that I’ll delete comments which are too incendiary regarding the trouble online. Whichever side of the line you sit. Don’t bring that drama here please.

He studies you with an intensity that you feel this situation almost warrants.

“Cherries”, you say.

He looks at you hard.

“Is that a question or a statement?”

You aren’t normally one to second guess yourself, but you hover for a moment.

“A statement. Cherries.”

He nods slowly in approval.

“Cherries.” He agrees.

You laugh, “I know, right? For texture as well as taste.”

You reach out a hand to pick one out of the plastic bag of sweets but he surprises you by slapping your wrist and snatching them away.

The best part though is when he realises that he has just wrist slapped the big bad assassin in the office and all the blood drains from his face. 

You slowly reach out again, daring him to stop you. Something ticks in his jaw as you rummage through the bag selecting all the cherries you can find. 

His fingers twitch as you pop one in your mouth. Then it’s all too much and he snatches the bag from your fingers and all but runs from the room. You laugh.

So yeah, working in an office is actually pretty fun.

Well. Maybe it’s a stretch to say that you “work” in the office. You come in every now and again, you “listen” to some general spiel about how the hunt for the twelve is going. Carolyn might or might not give you a target. Then you go about the rest of your week.

It’s a bit like working for The Twelve, but with worse resources and worse pay. The price of going public sector, Eve told you. 

Surprisingly, you also like the people. Sort of. That one is hilarious at least. He treats you like a zoo animal and you oblige him by being playful and then threatening in turn. All very entertaining. He’s the one that talks to you the most. You enjoy pretending not to remember his name. 

Today you are calling him Wolf.

So yes, it’s all very enjoyable. Maybe you should have switched teams sooner.

A hand touches your shoulder briefly. 

Ah, Eve.

That has been nice too. Not the sort of nice that you had originally wanted but nice none the less. A lot better than nothing. 

She walked, she turned, you both acknowledged.....something. You think it was love, you tried to do it properly this time. That was what you wanted her to know it was at least, and then you let her go. 

To be more accurate you released her from all the tension and anxiety and want and that insistent pull she feels for the darkness. Your darkness and probably her own too.

Well, you did all that. She’s free, the want is still there of course. You still have eyes. But it’s no longer being activity pursued.  


You set her free.

Yes, you like that description.

You were a romantic hero setting free the woman you love. You’re quite pleased with yourself to be honest. People ought to write songs about your grand gesture and sacrifice. Oh oh, Taylor Swift should do it. Yes. That would be excellent. Perhaps you could ask Wolf to get hold of her phone number so you can suggest it.

“Villanelle?” She interrupts your thoughts and offers you a coffee.

That has been happening a lot actually. She’s been making you drinks and other stuff, like saving you a seat during meetings for when you come in late. Originally it was weird but you guess this is what friendship looks like. 

“Thank you”, the coffee is shit but she is lovely as ever, so you lie with a smile.  


She smiles back and it’s nice. She goes and sits back at her desk, her eyes occasionally flickering to you before dropping back to her screen.

Huh. Ok.

You kick off against Wolf’s desk and slide on your chair back to your desk to find Carolyn has left you a target.

You remember when that would be cause for some excitement. You miss that. You miss when it was fun.  You miss the drama and the pageantry of it all.  
  
But that part of you is lost. You’ve tried to get it back, fake it to make it is what people say right? So you’ve planned and executed elaborate scenes and complicated plans. But ultimately it’s all the same, you watch a soul recede and all that’s left, reflected in glossy vacant eyes, is you.

Plenty of people do jobs they don’t enjoy but are good at, you just never thought that would be you. You thought that sort of boredom was reserved for lawyers and accountants, paper pushers in middle management. Apparently not.

It would be nice to go back to the person you were. She was excellent. But how do you go about unmaking yourself? If it is possible, you aren’t skilled enough to do it and you doubt you could find a shrink interested in helping you find joy in death once more.

So you keep going and it’s fine really. This is what you’re good at, so this is what you continue to do. 

Killing for a shadowy criminal organisation or killing for Carolyn, it’s all the same. This at least gives you some proximity to Eve, so not all bad.  


You find that proximity to Co-worker Eve is significantly better than no proximity with I’m-Eternally-Pining- For-Some- Glimmer- Of-Your-Attention Eve. 

Plus, teasing Wolf is fun. Next time you are going to call him Arctic Fox, excellent.

So you flick through the papers Carolyn left and try to find something to spark your interest. Organised crime. Blah blah. Arms sales. Next. Piracy? Oh cool! Oh, online media piracy. Urgh. Boring. Data harvesting. Yawn. Russia. Obviously. A woman? Oh. Well, that’s a bit more interesting. You flick through the pages quickly. Please be hot. Please be hot. Please be hot.

Oh, bingo! Dark hair, good smokey make up, good cheek bones. Beautiful lips... this could be promising. 

You guess Carolyn doesn’t have any no-fucking-the-mark type rules. She doesn’t seem like the type that would have. She’s not mentioned anything specific so it’s probably fine. That would be fun. 

You begin to pack up the papers so you can head home and start the prep work when you realise Eve is hovering.

You look at her and raise your eyebrows questioningly. 

“Carolyn mentioned a job in Vienna?” She asks

“Yes, I’ve just found the papers. Did you....need me to do something?” 

It’s hard sometimes to know whether this is Work Eve or Awkward-Small-Talk Eve. It’s a shame that after the bridge you lost the opportunity to have Open-and-Honest Eve but honesty between you tends to take things down a certain line and freeing her from that, from you, was the point of it all. 

So Work Eve or Awkward-Small-Talk Eve is what you are left with. Both have their merits of course but it’s sometimes hard to know which you are speaking to. 

Work Eve would not want to hear about the target’s tantalisingly full lips but Awkward-Small-Talk Eve might find it funny? Or not. Maybe leave the lips out of it.

“No, I just thought you might need some....back up?”

Weird.

“Oh, no I’m fine. I know Vienna well. Good cakes mostly. Also a really good Italian, one of the best I’ve tried actually.”

“Oh right, well I just thought maybe I could...help...you know with the surveillance before hand or something.”

Really weird. You’ve killed a handful of people for Carolyn already, you’ve never needed any help with surveillance before, and none has been offered. 

So what is this? Maybe she’s interested in a city break to Vienna? That makes sense, it’s a nice city. Or maybe she wants to spend time with you? That’s what friends do you guess. 

“Ok, that’s sounds fun.”

She seems surprised and then she’s awkward again. Urgh. The rules of friendship and being colleagues are confusing and tiring. But Eve often seems to do better with awkwardness if she has something to do.

“So...do you want to book the flights?” You suggest.

“Yes. Ok. Great.”

A silent pause again. If you didn’t love her this would be annoying. More annoying, you correct yourself.

“I’m going home to start planning it all. Then maybe we could meet tomorrow and go through the plan?”

Perfect. An excellent office appropriate interaction. 

“Um, yeah that sounds good.”

You agree a time but she continues hover as if to say something further but thinks better of it and heads back to her desk.

Maybe this won’t be so boring after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Cherries are the superior tangfastic


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update courtesy of me being completely unhelpful with the patio project. Yay! Although, the extent of the lost brownie points is yet to be determined...
> 
> A big thank you to everybody who wrote to me on the last chapter. Despite the Twitter...thing....I’ve found that the atmosphere in the comments on ao3 is pretty positive, even those which offer criticism. So thanks for making this all so much fun!

Well this is the last time you leave the logistics to her. EasyJet? Urgh. Alright, they don’t have first class, so that’s not entirely her fault. But she didn’t even book the seats with the extra leg room. 

You wonder how many more flights like this it would take before you could shake this whole inconvenient love thing. But then her head snuggles deeper against your shoulder as she sleeps and her hair brushes your face and suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad. 

A child starts kicking the back of your seat and you take it back. She is awful.

She drifted off not long after take off and has been asleep for an hour. It’s nice. Her weight leaning against your side. Her shampoo smells nice. The feeling of her breathing next to you is....nice. You lament, and not for the first time, that you never shared a bed. Obviously you regret that you’ve missed out on the sex, after all that waiting and wanting for so long? Yes, please. 

But, perhaps more so, you regret that you’ll never get the other side of it too. A hand stroking up her side, your face buried in her hair, an arm resting across her stomach, a leg slipped in between hers....ok so maybe you underplayed how much you want the sex. You want both. At the same time. Intimacy you suppose it is described as.

You shake yourself. No point letting your mind go down that rabbit hole. You’ll end up sad and turned on. You will not cry. Obviously. So you’ll be left with trying to resolve the other. But you’re not going to fuck yourself in the plane toilet and you aren’t entirely sure how she’d react waking to find you touching yourself under the weird scratchy blanket that she rather bizarrely produced from her bag at take off.

Part of you would like to find out. 

But you’re a grown up now, a grown up who plays for the goodies, a grown up who rescues the woman she loves from a decent into darkness. 

So no masturbating on the plane. 

Urgh. Being a goody sucks.

You feel her stirring. She looks up from where she rests against you and smiles. 

Every part of you that could react does. Your fingers itch to touch her face. Your throat burns with words that can’t be said. You heart stutters. Your stomach clenches. It’s fucking awful. You make a note to never fall in love again. It is the worst.

She seems to become aware of herself suddenly and the moment drifts as she draws away from you.

A pity. Or a bullet dodged. You can never tell.

“Morning.” You offer.

“Yeah, um, sorry about using you as a pillow.”

“Don’t be, you’re all warm and snuggly. It’s nice.” She smiles gently. All those reactions again. Fuck. 

Work. That’s a safe topic. 

“So. You’ve got the hotel booked?”

Then she’s back to Work Eve and things flow more easily. She booked the hotel you asked for. Good. It’s got an excellent breakfast buffet and a lovely little pastry shop across the cobbled street. This trip is going to be excellent.

“And....the target..?” she whispers it under her breath. She’s hilarious. 

“The person I am travelling across Europe to kill you mean?” You stage whisper back.

She rolls her eyes but then looks nervously at the people around you.

"God you're annoying."

You smile.

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll get in, get out, then we can go and visit Schönbrunn Palace. It’s got a zoo, did I mention that?”

“Only about ten times.”

“Don’t be grumpy it’s a good zoo. Plus there are gardens and stuff. It’s actually really nice.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is but, are you sure you’re prepared? For the, you know. It’s just I’ve read the file and the target seems really.....” she pauses

You both continue at once.

“Hot”

“Dangerous”

She hears your answer and there’s a face. 

There are lots of excellent things about being you but there are also things like this; where you can’t always decipher another persons reactions. 

You know the big ones, or at least you know enough to manipulate people when you need to, or sometimes just for entertainment. But these greys which exist in between require refinement in order to read. Sometimes you can’t do it.

Faces like hers at the moment? They occur with uncomfortable frequency, its just that you never cared enough to be curious before.

You wish you had a weakness that came up less in your life Post Eve. Like kryptonite. That has literally not come up once in your entire life. That should be your weakness. Much easier that way.

What you can read from her face is that fucking the target is now probably off the table. A shame really. The only benefit to letting go of any aspirations to fuck Eve is that you can go back to focusing on fucking hot but ultimately anonymous women. 

This one had the added bonus that she would be dangerous. But, you are where you are, and realistically a nice city break with Eve is more fun than having sex with ….what was her name? Smokey Eye Make Up Woman....Smith? 

Maybe you over played how much you’d read the file. Well, whatever her name, that seems to be off the table.

“Relax, ok. I’m prepared. I’m excellent at this. I’ve got my costume all ready.” 

She still looks subdued so you try to lighten the mood

“And if you’re a good girl maybe I’ll even wear it for you.” 

It comes out deeper and slower than you intended and it prompts a reaction that you do recognise. 

Her eyes dip to your mouth, her fingers tighten on the blanket.

She’s turned on. 

Oh. 

Well that’s....neat. 

It’s not a big deal you rationalise. She always wanted you. You know that. You’ve tortured yourself enough times with thoughts of it. 

She wants the darkness, she can’t help it. 

Thats really the problem because you don’t want the dark with her. You want picnics and roses and…..other…romantic type things….like doves flying out of a box, and chocolate hearts. That sort of stuff. 

She just wants to fuck you in your murder outfit. A bit of a downer when you put it like that.

Well, she wants that, but she doesn’t want to want it. So yeah, bridge, freedom, blah blah blah. You know the story, you recite it to yourself often enough.

But regardless of what you want, and whilst the bridge was a symbolic end, you know enough about real people to know that feelings linger. So this doesn’t mean anything. She might still want you like that, but she doesn’t want to. So it doesn’t matter at all.

“Look at me?” you ask, and she turns her face to you, “I’ve done this plenty of times. You don’t need to worry about ...it”

She sighs.

“I know, I know. Things are just different now, and I.....do worry about you.”

Something tightens in your chest. You don’t remember the last time someone was worried about you. God that’s a depressing thought.

You look at her face, serious and genuine. The thoughts of darkness almost vanish. You know why you shouldn't touch her. You know why you wanted to set her free. You allow your fingers to lightly brush against the skin on the back of her hand as it rests on her leg, and despite knowing both of those things you cant bring yourself to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: The extra leg room seats are a con. Eve is correct not to book them.
> 
> Readers of my previous stories will be relieved to know that there is no awkward sex anecdote behind that opinion. They are just annoyingly expensive and in no way reduce the risk of having a child boot you in the back every 30 seconds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early update as I now have to go into the office first thing tomorrow....boo!!

The hotel room is.....ok. It’s fine. It’s isn’t as nice as the one last time, but you acknowledge that you have a habit of romanticising the past. 

When you arrived at the hotel there had been some sort of mix up and there was only one room. This sort of thing always annoys you. If your job is to run room bookings in a hotel, then just....do that. God.

You considered making a scene but you decided that the threat of room service with a healthy dose of spit was too great a risk to take. So you were good and smiled indulgently, asking them to check again. They cobbled something together and you ended up with two rooms on the same floor at least. 

So it could be worse.

Eve has been quiet since the flight. You chose not to dwell on it earlier but now alone in your hotel room your mind wanders. Some things never change.

You were good for the rest of the flight after your slip up with the non platonic hand touching. You studied the inflight magazine with an impressive amount of focus considering. But you feel that was a sacrifice worth making to keep your traitorous hands occupied.

Perhaps you surprised her with it too, as she let your hand withdraw without comment.

You turn your mind to the job. You’re right about what you said. You are excellent at this and it is going to be all too easy. 

Smokey Eye Make Up Woman Smith has a masseuse visit her house every Thursday evening at 8pm. Currently that is due to be Alina, a pretty redhead who’ll you’ll be visiting tonight. 

Carolyn doesn’t like collateral damage so it’ll be a sedative. Boring, but whatever, you suppose it saves the weight of another soul on your shoulders and Alina will spend a nice 24 hours asleep. Everyone wins.

Tonight you’ll take a walk around the streets near the targets’s home, you’ll get familiar with it. Then you’ll visit Alina. 

Tomorrow you’ll arrive in the evening to start the massage.

Then when the moment is right you’ll draw your hands around the side of her head and snap. Simple. Boring. Easy. 

You had thought about something more elaborate, maybe drowning her in massage oils? That would have appealed to the old you. God you used to be so much fun. 

But now you just grimace at how long it would take to pour out enough of the tiny bottles of oil, and where would you get a bowl big enough to do it? Urgh.

Is this what getting older feels like? A pre occupation with details like that and being left feeling nothing but tired? Or is it just that now you’ve lost the joy it’s not worth the effort. Maybe that’s just getting older too.

Either way, its going to be a quick sharp movement of your wrists at her neck.

Easy.

Then you can get back to your fun city break with your new bff. 

She was weird about the room arrangement you reflect. She was weird in the lift on the way up and weirder still when you told her to meet you at seven for dinner, she hovered for an awkward moment so rather than prolong it you left her standing in the corridor when you went to find your own room.

She probably thought that the whole one room booking was a ploy by you to get her into into your bed. It might have been something you’d have tried before. Stunts like that are classics for a reason. But you know, big sacrifice, saving her from falling into your never ending well of darkness, blah blah. All of that doesn’t sit very well against convincing her to share your bed. 

You wonder, and not for the first time, whether the proximity to her that you crave is worth this empty ache that only seems to pull harder when you are alone.

You sigh. Isn’t love supposed to make you happy? This is exhausting.

Alright. You shake yourself. No more of this melancholy. 

Instead you decide to focus on choosing your outfit for tonight, dark trousers and a plain top. Boring. But breaking and entering in a residential area is made all the more difficult by standing out.  


Sometimes you must suffer for your art.

You take off your clothes then go to the bathroom. You run the shower for a moment and check the water pressure. Meh. No masturbating in the shower either then. Maybe you’ll do it the old fashioned way once you’re back from Alina’s.

You’ll think of Eve. Of course. Just because you aren’t actively trying to fuck her anymore it doesn’t mean that you can’t still….think about it.

You wash your hair and imagine that it’s her instead. You used to let Anna do it, her hands quick and practical. How would Eve do it? Rough strong fingers or gentle soft hands? A bit of both you settle on. Another thing that you’ve missed out on. 

You sigh. 

You had decided not to linger on these thoughts. You need to focus.

You finish in the shower and dry your hair. You put on your boring but ultimately sensible outfit. There’s a knock at the door, you open it and...you cant help the shock of laughter that erupts. 

“What are you wearing?”

She’s dressed like a cat burglar from a cartoon. There’s also a hat, but really the less said about it the better.

Where does she even find clothes like this? It’s the middle of July, you wore less that time with the politician in Reykjavik in November. That was a cool one. Impaled on the icicles hanging from his garage. Such a pity. You allow a small smile at the memory.

She huffs to draw you from your memories and she looks indignant.

“I’m …stealthy.”

“You look like a scooby doo villain.” You keep laughing and step back to let her through.

“How is what you’re wearing any different?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I look like a normal and instantly forgettable person. You’re wearing chunky cable knit when it’s 25 degrees outside. Anyway, who said you were even coming with me tonight? I think I offered you dinner not...afters...”

“I’m coming.” It’s delivered in her serious Work Eve voice. God she’s sexy.

Is this a good idea? On the one hand you aren’t here for that long and it’s a nice night this evening. Shame to waste it alone. On the other hand she is the woman who fights off assassins with a toilet brush.

But then....you can’t escape that you do want to spend time with her. Another weakness. Superman didn’t know how good he had it.

“Ok, ok.” You gesture in mock surrender.

“Look, keep the boots if you insist but let me give you a different top.”

You look through your backpack and pull out your spare dark long sleeve top. Normally it’s there in case you tear what you are wearing or get too covered in blood, you guess you’ll be running for your life in a bra if that crops up. Meh. Wouldn’t be the first time and your tan is pretty even at the moment so it could be worse.

You gesture to the bathroom.

“And please burn that hat whilst you’re in there. You look like Captain Birdseye’s evil twin”

That reminds you, you’re out of fish fingers. You must try and remember to put that on your list once you are back in London.

You hand her the top and she takes it without comment but there is a face. Indignence but resignation? Is that an emotion?

“I won’t look.”

She walks into the bathroom behind you but doesn’t close the door. You can see in the mirror. You promised not to look. You aren’t going to. 

A glance isn’t looking, you reassure yourself.

You glance once in the direction of the mirror just in time to see her pull your top toward her face as she breathes it....you....in.

Fuck. You turn away quickly. You should have fucked yourself in the shower. Water pressure or no water pressure. Maybe if you’d taken the edge off you wouldn’t have to work so hard to stop yourself going in there, lifting her onto the vanity, pressing your mouth to the pulse on her neck, maybe that would make her wrap her legs around you, you could then...

“Thanks. This is better actually.” She’s back out of then bathroom and inadvertently rescuing you both from what is sure to have been a terrible mistake.

You smile lightly. This has taken a weird turn. Again.

“Ok, so dinner first then recon?” She asks.

“Sure. What sort of food do you want?”

“Spaghetti.” She replies with another face.

Huh. Weirder and weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact. Whilst googling whether Captain Birdseye is a thing outside of the UK (I still don’t know so please feel free to educate me!) I discovered that they are to be portrayed by a woman for the first time.
> 
> I guess this is progress? It seems to have enraged the Daily Mail brigade (always a joy) who are very certain that Captain is a gender specific pronoun. Who knew people cared so much about fish fingers? 
> 
> So yes, a female Captain Birdseye is soon to grace your freezers. Today Captain Birdseye, tomorrow the gender pay gap! 
> 
> Take that, patriarchy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for everyone’s contribution to the Captain Birdseye chat...oh, and all the comments on the story of course.

It’s sexy watching her wear your clothes. There. You said it. Well. You’ve thought it.

The sleeves are a little too long, and every so often you see the way her fingers absently curl into the cuffs just over hanging her wrists.

You think of fingers gripping sheets.

No. 

You don’t take her to the good Italian restaurant, that’s better saved for when you have more time. You like the idea of watching her from across a table, candles , wine, and music and all the rest. Maybe your leg could brush hers under the table and her breath would hitch in just the right way.... Stop it. God, what are you sixteen?

Anyway, it’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean anything. Just because you are friends and colleagues doesn’t mean you can’t privately enjoy a bit of fantasy. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right? The trick is just not to let yourself actually indulge or, more importantly, not to encourage her to.

So not the excellent restaurant and no spaghetti, tonight it’s slices of pizza bought from the front of a cafe you discovered on your last visit. You sit together to eat them on the stone lip of a fountain. 

Her mouth and hands are covered in tomato and you guess yours are too. Your fingers itch to wipe a smudge from the corner of her mouth. But you are good and you sit still without comment while she finishes.

“Good, right?” You ask

“Yeah.” She replies with a laugh.

“Is this what you normally do on these....trips..?” She asks

“It depends. Not all pizza is created equal”

“No, I mean do you get out and ...soak up the city.”

You shrug lazily. “When it’s somewhere new I guess. I do a lot of walking tours.”

She looks at you like you’ve said something weird. You bristle at that. Everyone likes walking tours.

“You’re joking?” She laughs.

“Why would I be joking? It’s a good way to see the city, you wouldn’t be eating excellent pizza right now if I hadn’t done one last time I was here.”

She laughs and there’s a look. She looks...fond? 

This......this is all taking a weird turn. First the thing with your top, then this fondness, now.....is she sitting slightly closer? You can’t help but think....maybe? As instantly as the thought crosses your mind you shake it off.

“Let’s do one tomorrow. An obscure one, like 17th century murders or something cool like that.” She suggests

Urgh. Why is it that you can’t have her again? God life is so unfair.

“Absolutely. Book it tonight.”

She reaches a hand to your face gently and rubs the pad of her thumb over your chin. She draws it away and wipes it on a paper napkin without comment, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart hammers in your chest. You wanted to do that. What is happening here?

But then the moment is gone and she collects the packaging from your hands to put it in the bin. You wipe your hands and mouth on a napkin then trail after her.

You catch the tram and go 10 minutes north of the city centre. It’s not a bus so you aren’t thinking about.....that. If you’re both quiet it’s because trams are...fun....and it’s nice to watch the city go by. 

You almost let the stop you need pass you by. This is why you shouldn’t bring her with you for things like this, you need to focus on escape routes, how busy it is and with what sort of people. You do not need to be thinking about how each time the tram jolts to a stop her leg presses slightly more closely to yours.

So. Yes. Focus. That’s what you are doing now. Focus. Well done.

When you get off the tram the buildings have changed, you have left behind the ornate pale apartment blocks which always felt closer to Paris than anywhere else, replaced by large houses on tree lined streets. Maybe you could suggest an architectural walking tour, that might not have the zing of famous murders but you’ve always liked architecture.  


You wonder whether you have ever told Eve that. You aren’t sure whether you’ve ever told anyone that. It’s not like you have a long list of people who cared to know those kinds of details. 

Maybe one day you will tell her.

The house is four blocks north of where you are at the moment, you wrap your hand gently round Eve’s forearm and lead her away from the tram stop heading east so you can start your sweep of the area. As you release her arm she looks at you questioningly, presumably confused by your change in direction.

“The house is north but, I need to know the surrounding area so we’ll start east then sweep back round, this way we don’t pass any house twice.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Ok”

You continue to walk, but shorten your gait so she can keep pace.

“Have you done this before?”

“No, the last mark was in the centre so I didn’t see any other parts of the city.”

“Yeah, I remember I just meant…have you brought anyone with you to do this sort of thing before?”

Thats a weird question.

“Umm, no?”

She murmurs in acknowledgment. You’re closer to the house now, two blocks maybe. 

“Why did you let me come?”

Another weird question. One block now.

You notice a good shed, partly open behind a hedge and some low slung railings. Could be useful if you need to hide for a while.

You’re trying to focus on your surroundings so you answer offhandedly, “Because I always want you with me.”

There are two men approaching. Private security, you’re pretty certain. You cant let them see your face. You don’t know how competent they are and if they are competent then they aren’t going to let in a new masseuse tomorrow if they saw you skulking around out here tonight. 

Maybe you’ll need a wig tomorrow, just to be sure. No bad thing, wigs are fun. 

You cant turn back around now or it will look suspicious. 

She stops next to you, she must see them too and be panicking. Then there is a hand on your face, you turn to look at her and she rests another hand on your shoulder, she pulls lightly and then she’s kissing you.

Fuck. You hadn’t really been prepared for it so for a moment you are just standing there being kissed. 

You feel more than see the presence of people walking around you. Ah. That makes sense now. 

Good spy moves, a classic.

On the one hand you are a little put out that she’s kissed you twice and its never been just a kiss, but on the other, she is kissing you and it is excellent. 

Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little. Even if its not real, you may not get this opportunity again, maybe it would be nice to pretend. Just for a little while. 

Then with the decision made your hands are in her hair and at her waist before moving to cover her hand against your face with your own. You want to touch everything, every inch of skin available. Why did you give her a long sleeved top? You are an idiot. Your hand at her waist nudges the top she’s wearing, your top, up slightly until you can feel skin and it’s everything. This tiny sliver of skin is more than you thought you would ever have of her.

Her tongue is in your mouth, and its no longer cute couple on the street kissing. This is where is the nearest bed, take all your clothes off now kissing. And she’s into it. Not just into it, she’s leading. Her thumb tracing the underside of your bra as her hand rests at your side. 

This has to stop now.

You break away and she looks….you are not going to name how she looks or Alina will not be getting a visit tonight, and you’ll find an entirely inappropriate use for that shed.

All at once you remember, the job, the security guards, the spy moves, the pathetic way you tried to pretend it was real.

Suddenly you think you might cry. Fuck. You have to get out of here.

“I, erm, I need to get on with ... I need to go.” Why is your voice weird, oh yeah, the imminent threat of tears, of course. 

She looks confused and worried, and reaches out a hand. You step back.

“You’ve got the address of the hotel?” You ask

She nods. 

“Ok, you go back. I’ve got to go”

“Oksana-“ You don’t let her finish

“I’m fine. Text me and let me know you are back safely”

You don’t wait for her to agree before turning to walk in the other direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I’m torn on the sexiness of someone wearing your clothes. In theory it’s hot...I think? 
> 
> But in my life that seems to translate to “why are you wearing my favourite bed shorts, don’t be a dick, get your own.”....which is not hot, it’s just annoying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! 
> 
> After the large number of soppy responses from old romantics in the comments on the last chapter, I have been sufficiently shamed into purchasing another set of bed shorts to trade for my stolen ones.
> 
> I guess now my daughter won’t come from a broken home because of bed shorts.
> 
> So, thanks a bunch. 
> 
> Here’s some more misery as a thank you.

That did not….go as planned. You really could have done with that spare top after all.

After you left her standing looking confused in the street, you were…..angry.

Ok, sure, you are a terrible person and you don’t feel things the way other people seem to. She might not want to call what you feel love but she knows that it is.....something. At the very least she knows that for you it is love.

You don’t just go around kissing people that are in love with you when you don’t love them back.

It is....rude.

You spare a brief thought for Nadia.

Yeah well, you know you’re a terrible person, what else is new.

But she isn’t. Or at least she says she isn’t. But she is the one who tricks you into bed and stabs you, she is the one who kisses you like she’s never wanted anything more in her life just so she can make her life more exciting.

She’s the terrible one and you are....also terrible? But not quite as terrible. Whatever. She is a dick.

So yeah, you were angry and you don’t always make your best decisions when you are angry. You didn’t have to climb in and out of Alina’s apartment via a drain pipe but the thought of having to concentrate on picking a series of locks was too annoying to even really contemplate.

Unfortunately angry and distracted isn’t a great combination for safely navigating your way down a drain pipe.

So now you trudge back to the hotel holding your arm as you try to stop the blood from dripping too obviously onto the cobbles as you pass over them.

When you are back at the hotel, you walk quickly through the lobby and she’s sitting in the large atrium waiting for you. Because of course she is. When do you ever get what you want? Like ever?

She follows after you and sneaks in the lift before the doors close. She looks at you confused and then she sees the blood.

“Oksana-“

“Im fine, its nothing”

“Jesus, have you been…shot?”

“Urgh. You are so dramatic. I cut my arm on the side of the building.”

You don’t look at her, the doors open and you walk off in the direction of your room. You can hear her following you.

Cant this woman take a fucking hint?

She follows you in. Obviously. You just don’t have the strength to fight with her at the moment. You sit on the floor with your legs outstretched and your head tipped back against the bed.

“Take off your shirt”

“Buy me dinner first.”

“I did, don’t be an asshole.”

You sigh, and try to take it off but you cant get your arm up enough. She comes closer and helps and this is not what you had in mind for the first time she undressed you.

Once its off, she looks for a second. You raise an eye brow mockingly. She turns to busy herself with what you guess is antiseptic from your first aid kit and you brace for the pain. She kneels next you, takes one of your hands in hers, and as she presses the damp cloth to the gash in your arm she presses a kiss to your temple.

The sting in your arm is awful, the clawing in your chest is even worse.

Another tool to distract you, this time from the pain in your arm. How are you so easily controlled by this?

She’s so gentle and this is so fucking awful that this time you are actually going to fucking cry.

You push her away and take the cloth yourself. “Stop doing that.”

She looks confused and it makes you furious.

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop touching me, kissing me, looking at me. Stop doing it.”

She sits back, it gives you a foot or so of breathing room which you are entirely too grateful for.

“That isn’t-“

You cut her off.

“What do you want from me?”

She doesn’t answer right a way, maybe that’s a good thing. Whatever she has to say, do you really want to hear it?

“Forget it. Don’t answer that. I’m tired. Just ....can you go?”

She sits still, obviously considering her options.

“Alright, but do you need any more help with your arm?”

You shake your head. This is hardly the first time you’ve had to do something like this alone.

You once imagined that she might trace every one of your scars with her lips, asking the story of each one and you would offer them up gladly in benediction. Another fantasy which will remain just that.

“Can we talk in the morning?” She asks

Anything to get her out of your room right now.

“Yes. Fine. Just go. Please.”

Urgh. Why did you say please? You should have just told her to fuck off when she first tried to get in here.

She seems satisfied by that but she puts a hand on the side of your face again.

“I’ll go but I’m down the hall if you need me.”

You close your eyes, you will not cry. That isn’t happening. You’ve decided. So that is fine. No crying. Not until she leaves at least.

Why is she still touching you? Not another kiss. Please. There’s no reason to kiss you now. No job to do, no need to create a distraction. So even if you wanted it now, which you don’t, she wouldn’t do it anyway.

You pull your head away from her palm and she looks hurt. Well welcome to the fucking party.

You turn away as she gets to her feet and you don’t watch as she leaves. The door clicks shut and you can finally breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is my brief nod to poor old Nadia. I’ve never been abandoned in prison or run over or murdered by an ex. Although one did steal my N64 which is pretty much the same level of betrayal.
> 
> So yeah, break ups are shit the world over. I see you Nadia. I get it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you an end to the misery.....and this has been my favourite one to write so far.
> 
> Nothing more for a few days whilst I battle with the possibility of....trousers!!!!!

Today is going to be a better day.

You have decided that your best option to regain some control over this ever worsening disaster is to embrace the culture of your adopted homeland.

Well, your currently adopted homeland at least. Your heart will forever belong to Paris.

Anyway, yes, you’ve decided to just pretend that everything is fine and nothing has happened.

No sexy, but selfish and cruel, kissing in the street, no soft, gentle hands last night.

None of it.

She’s lived in the UK long enough so she will know what you are doing and respect your stoicism.

Today you are Colin Firth.

You wonder whether you’ll know the moment she appreciates said stoicism. Do British people have a secret signal that silently says, “I see your repressed emotions, good job.”?

You hope so, what is life without an appreciative audience?

You’ve not had a moment like that yet but then your only interactions that have lasted more than a few sentences have been with Eve and Mountain Lion. Another good one. You really are hilarious.

Anyway, what would a ‘you’ that doesn’t feel like you’re being slowly gutted with a fish hook do on a fun day with your bff who you aren’t simultaneously furious at and in love with?

The zoo. Easy.

What to wear then. You decide it’s too on the nose to go animal print. You consider something nautical. 

Oh no.

Wait.

You are Colin Firth today. Colin wouldn’t do nautical. Colin would wear a suit. Pristine and untouchable. That’s going to be you. High neck line. Little to no excess skin. You’ll be like ice. Cool. Smooth. Emotionless. Ice.

Emotionless except joy, because the zoo is excellent, obviously.

You look through the clothes you have with you and find what you need. You genuinely don’t remember how you managed to pack suit carriers into your luggage before you read about rolling the rest of your clothes rather than folding them. An outfit for every occasion, in one large bag for a four day trip. Perfect.

It crosses your mind suddenly that it is weird that she booked four days, you had always intended to get the job done on day two. You shake the thought and get back to more important considerations.

Hair up or down? She likes it down, you know that, you’ve seen her eyes flicker when you wrap strands of it round your fingers.

Up. Hair up.

Ok.

It’s eight in the morning and she isn’t awake. Or at least she hasn’t come to your room yet. Annoying. If you leave for the zoo too late you’ll miss your date with Old Smokey Eyes, and that would be a shame.

Old Smokey probably isn’t a dickhead who goes around kissing people when it’s not real. You wish you’d fallen in love with her instead. She seems .....nice....from what you can remember from the file. She has a boat anyway. Eve doesn’t have a boat.

Urgh, you’re hungry and your arm hurts. Then there is a knock at the door. Finally.

You open the door and she smiles.

Urgh. She looks good. Really good. Hair down, nice blouse and a skirt. She looks relaxed. Couldn’t this have been a shapeless anorak day?

She looks at your pristine and untouchable Colin Firth inspired outfit but doesn’t comment. How rude.

“I want to take you to the zoo today.” She says firmly, then less confidently; “if your arm is ok and we have time, I mean”

Huh. She chose the zoo too. Excellent. Maybe you are destined to be great friends. Once she stops making a habit of crushing what there is of your heart of course.

“My arm is fine so yes, the zoo would be good”

“Ok. .....do you want breakfast?”

You do. “Ok”

She smiles but it looks forced suddenly, “Great.”

You lead her down the corridor toward the lifts, walking quickly to put off any ...talking.

There is a a couple waiting for the lift which helps keep her quiet. There’s an atmosphere but you don’t understand what it is exactly. You are the one who deserves to be angry, why does she get to dictate the atmosphere?

God, this is exhausting.

You get in the lift with the other couple and it goes down toward the lobby and restaurant. The doors open and they move to get out. She places an arm across your chest to stop you leaving and as the doors shut again she reaches forward and presses the stop button.

She looks at you intently but says nothing.

“Ummm...you can’t just press that and expect nothing to happen...they’ll probably call the police or-“

“Whatever, I just wanted to talk to you-“

“Ok, a little dramatic-“

“Says you dressed for...Jesus, I don’t even know what this outfit is meant to be about.”

Disappointing.

You open your mouth to respond but she cuts you off.

“I just wanted to say sorry, I upset you yesterday. I didn’t mean to. I just....I thought ...with the…. kissing and everything that now you wouldn’t mind me....helping...when you’re.....hurt. But you aren’t there yet. That’s fine. I’m not trying to be pushy. So I just wanted to clear the air.”

What? You’re confused.

“I’m confused-“ you start

She tries to take your hand as she starts to respond but you aren’t expecting it and so you move your hand before her fingers touch yours. Reluctant to let the moment pass, your traitorous hands chase her fingers but miss and it’s shit and awkward.

  
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

“It never comes easy for us does it.”

You smile at that. Finally something you understand.

“No.”

She tries again and this time captures your hand properly. She pulls the stop button and the lift doors open.

She tugs gently to lead you out and down to the hotel’s restaurant. She’s still holding your hand. What exactly is happening?

The boy at the entrance directs you both to a table, and Eve says she’ll wait whilst you get your food.

Honestly you’re just glad for the space. She thought you were upset because she saw you hurt? That doesn’t make any sense. Why does that mean she needs to hold your hand now?

You are going to have to actually talk to her. A grown up conversation about feelings. How annoying. These talks never seem to go very well for you. Someone is always stabbed or shot or left heartbroken on a bridge.

You sigh before taking a large selection of cheeses from the table infront of you. Might as well do it on a full stomach.

The coffee machine doesn’t inspire much confidence, but you seem to remember being pleasantly surprised last time so you take a risk.

You walk back to the table, her eyes flicker to your plate of cheese. She doesn’t comment before leaving to get her own breakfast.

The coffee is a pleasant surprise. Excellent. You knew it was going to be a good day.

Right, you turn your mind back to the problem at hand. She thinks you were upset with her because she saw you hurt? Or does she mean vulnerable?

Ok.

But she originally thought you wouldn’t be upset with her seeing you like that because you had kissed? As a distraction? This only make sense if she actually kissed you. So maybe she did? Huh. That doesn’t make sense either though.

She arrives back at the table, interrupting your thoughts and she has two plates. Her own breakfast and one full of pastries.

“I got you these. I didn’t know if you saw them and you have them at the office sometimes so.....I thought you might like them.”

She puts the plate of pastries on the table in front of you.

You don’t say anything and she gives you a look before sitting down and starting to eat.

You think of all the coffees she has made you. Of all the seats that she has saved. She brought you a plate of pastries that she thought you’d like. She keeps trying to hold your hand. She kissed you. She’s here in the first place.

Is she....this is too ridiculous to even think. Is she....trying to seduce you? With thoughtfulness and pastries?

Fuck.

“You’re being weird.” She says around a piece of toast

“I’m being quiet”

“Like I said.”

So then she did kiss you last night?

“How did you know those two men last night were private security?” You ask.

Something twists inside you as you wait for her answer.

She looks at you blankly.

Fuck.

“Which two?”

Fuck.

You wave a hand in dismissal, no longer interested in that line of questioning. You decide to be more direct. All aspirations of Colin Firth out the window. Or maybe this just a more nuanced nod to Colin in the last ten minutes of a movie.

“You kissed me. Why?”

She gives you a confused look, “Why do you think?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

She sits back in her seat before continuing in an exasperated voice.

“Because you were being sweet, and-“, she pauses and you can see that she is summoning some courage.

“-and because I wanted to.”

Fuck.

“Oh”

She gestures to one of the seduction pastries, “Can I have a mini croissant?”

You nod and pass her the plate, because honestly you have no fucking idea what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just refuse to accept that there is a person on Earth who can not be seduced by a targeted campaign of thoughtfulness and pastries. 
> 
> So...those are my moves. Pretty sophisticated, I know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank as always to those who are reading this and to those who drop me a line. Both things very much appreciated.

This is a sentence that you never thought you’d say; you’re just not feeling the Zoo today.

Its not the kids on school trips or the number of people smoking…seriously though, you lived in Paris for years and this is extreme even by those standards, but that is not the reason that you aren’t totally invested in the zoo.

You can’t get into the zoo because this, whatever it is, is new and you can’t focus on anything else.

Whatever she might think about trying new things, you hate it.

You like things you know that you are good at. Murder. Shopping. Languages. Dung throwing. Sex. You do not like things that you are not instantly good at, and it turns out that you are not instantly good at having what you want.

You’ve spent countless hours in depressing day dreams about exactly this. But now its here and you are….paralysed.

Once you realised that she really does want you, and not just in an “I wanted you for ages and those feelings aren’t going away as quickly as hoped” sort of way, you hoped it would all to descend into a montage of cute couple type things. Eve and you walking hand in hand under a canopy of excellently cropped trees, maybe a leaf would be caught in her hair and you could gently pick it out before kissing her. Or maybe she could buy you an ice cream and a little bit could drip onto your fingers and she could lick them clean. Ok, maybe that one isn’t zoo appropriate, but those sorts of things.

What has actually happened is that you have been riddled with indecision. Are you allowed to hold her hand? Are you allowed to kiss her? What sort of kissing? Do you sit opposite or next to each other on the train? What is safe conversation material?

So it turns out that getting what you want is shit. You wouldn’t recommend it to any one.

Everything you’ve said or done today has been swamped in second guessing.

You do not like it. This isn’t like you.

You think about that sentence.

This is not like you. Huh. That’s right. This is not like you at all.

You see something you want and you take it. You didn’t want to stay at a fucking orphanage so you burnt it down. You wanted Anna so you had her. You didn’t want to die in prison so you got out.

It’s only with her that you’ve ever allowed fears and doubts to creep like this.

So you’ve decided. You’ll wear your confidence like you would any other mask until it gradually sews itself in to your skin.

So what is it that you want?

You want a cute date at the zoo. You want her to see that you have more to offer her than the excitement of the bite of a blade against flesh.

You’re leaning on railings watching a woman in really fun looking waders hold fish for the sea lions who jump out of the water to eat it. Eve’s arm is lightly pressing yours as you stand next to each other.

“I imagined this.” You start.

She turns to look at you. “A trip to the zoo?”

“You and me. Doing stuff.”

“You told me that in Paris.” She grins

You give her a look and she laughs lightly.

“I imagined us...spending time together you pervert.”

She smiles.

“What did you imagine?” She leans against you gently for a moment.

“Lots of things. Going to restaurants. Going to the movies. Shopping.”

You take a breath.

“Holding your hand. Kissing you. Talking. Normal stuff.”

She knocks her shoulder into yours.

“So, you’ve held my hand, you’ve kissed me and we’re talking. Does it live up to your imagination?”

You turn to look at her. “No. You’ve held my hand, you’ve kissed me, I want to do those things to you.”

She considers you for a moment. “Does it matter which way round they happen?”

“Sometimes.”

She nods and unclasps her hands as they rest on by the rail in front of her, she holds her hand out for you to take.

The indecision is back and you force it down with a brutality saved for your very finest work.

You take her hand and she smiles before looking back out at the sea lions.

You thought you’d find peace in simple gestures like this. You imagined it would satisfy, but that’s never been you. Everything you’ve ever had only makes you hungrier for more and this is no different. But you savour this for now, you’re are patient as you can be.

“And this?” She asks. “Does this live up to expectations?”

“I don’t think I expected any of this.”

“Maybe you should have.”

She dangles the comment in front of you and you think of the sea lions jumping for their food.

This part you know at least.

You offer her a smile and it must be as unguarded as you fear because she takes that breath you’ve come to recognise and her eyes dip to your mouth.

Excellent.

Keeping hold of her hand, you turn her so that her back presses against the railings before you step close to follow her. Her free hand lightly presses against the lapel of your Colin Firth jacket and her thumb stokes the thin layer of the top beneath, the only thing separating your skin from hers. She knows how to tease too. An excellent day indeed.

You dip your face lower to kiss her and it is so much better than before. This time you know that the clench of her fingers is because she wants more. The press of her body is because she wants the touch of yours. When you pull back slightly she follows, and you feel something knit tighter into your gut, in your throat, between your legs and in your chest.

She must feel it too because she makes a small sound of want, and you feel her fingers grip tighter on your waist pulling your hips flush to hers.

Then it’s suddenly too much. Too much for faux confidence and kissing that’s just beyond the line of what’s appropriate for a zoo.

Before pulling back completely you can’t help but press a small far more gentle kiss to the edge of her mouth. You move away to lean forward against the railing next to her, just as you were before you kissed her.

You turn to see her with her back still pressed to the bars, she laughs slightly to herself before rubbing her thumb along her bottom lip before turning her head to look at you.

“You can say wow if you like”, you offer playfully.

She laughs again before responding, “So can you.”

Another smile crosses your face, you make a small shrug in acknowledgment.

“Wow.”

She turns away, embarrassed perhaps.

Maybe getting what you want isn’t so bad after all.

You hold your hand out to her and she takes it.

“Let’s get dressed up and go out to dinner tonight.” You can’t help the giddy excitement you feel all of a sudden.

“Umm, you’ve got the ...you know.”

Urgh. Old Smokey. You’d forgotten.

“Annoying. Let’s skip it.”

“Umm. No? We can’t.”

“Why? She seems like a pretty nice person.”

Eve pulls an appalled face. Perhaps you should have read the file beyond the discovery that she had a boat.

“You’ve already set up the masseuse thing. Besides it’s why we’re here.”

“Is it?”

You don’t know why you asked that. Of course it’s why you’re there. It’s just with the taste of her still on you’re tongue it’s easy to forget the rest of it. You want to forget the rest of it, but more importantly you want her to.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug and look away.

“I want to come with you tonight.”

Another pull in your gut. Not the good kind from before, but not the more familiar endless sadness.

Urgh. As if it isn’t hard enough interpreting other people’s emotions, now you have to work out your own too.

You know enough to know it’s a bad pull.

“No.”

“Why not? I can be helpful”

A sea lion jumps to collect a fish and the wader woman wobbles slightly, you want more than anything for her to fall in.

“You invited me once before” She reminds you.

You did. That was a different time. That was when you wanted to use her pull to the dark to draw her closer. Now you want her to want you for something more.

Maybe you were too quick to say that you had everything that you wanted.

You stay silent and keep your eyes on the wader woman.

Eve brings her fingers to stroke the back of your hand. Its slow and gentle and it promises…..something. Her voice is dark and thick and you feel it sinking into you.

“I’ve seen you kill before. Why is this different?”

It’s different because she’s asking for you to perform for her and she has never asked for that before. It’s different because it’s not fun any more. It’s different because you’re different. Or maybe, at least, that you’re trying to be.

“Let me watch you tonight.”

Fuck. She isn’t allowed to say it like that. All demanding and confident. She’s turned on by the thought of it. Fuck. Now you are too. She isn’t allowed to use this to get that. It isn’t fair.

It feels wrong.

That is what the pull is telling you. You want her to want you because your leg brushed lightly against hers under the table in a nice restaurant. Not because you slipped a knife between someone’s ribs whilst you stare into her eyes.

Ok. So being strictly fair about it, it turns you on too. There is some part of you that pictures the heat flare in her eyes as she watches you kill and you are flooded with want.

That part of you exists whether you want it to or not. You just want whatever it is between you to be about more than her indulging in her worst impulses and using you to do it.

God emotions are exhausting. Once she leaves you this will be your last flirtation with them.

Something occurs to you then. You could always…give her what she thinks she wants… Let her see what is really inside you. The truth is that, despite what she thinks, really all she wants a taste, she couldn’t handle the full horror of what you are. You could use that.

It could either satisfy her craving for the dark and you could go back to cute dates at the zoo or ...she’d leave.

Kill or cure.

It would end this purgatory once and for all.

At least if she left you could be free of this endless hang wringing. You could tell Carolyn to fuck off. You could kill only when you wanted to. You wouldn’t need to kill her targets to stay close to Eve because there would be no Eve. No one to miss. No one to want. You could fuck your way through woman after woman and never have to wish it was someone else again. You could watch movies without wishing you weren’t so alone.

You’d be alone by your own choices and actions, which must be significantly better than being alone because of hers. 

The thought isn’t unappealing.

You turn to face her and step close, a horrible parody of the intimacy you found before. Your fingers reach out to trace along the side of her face before curling through her hair to rest behind her neck. You draw her toward you and put your lips to her ear.

“You want to watch?”

You feel it as she nods as if she doesn’t trust her voice.

“Ok.”

Then you step away without further preamble.

She thinks that she wants Villanelle. Fine, thats who she’ll get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Sea Lion Wader Woman
> 
> Waders are actually really fun. I don’t fish, it’s boring and I’m squeamish. But once I had to do a site visit so someone technical could explain the finer points of bridge engineering for a work thing (don’t ask me, I still don’t get it, apologies for upholding unflattering gender stereotypes) so I wore a pair from the back of someone’s van. Gross on the one hand but actually super fun on the other. 
> 
> If you get an opportunity, don’t turn it down. It’s like a wetsuit only without the anxiety induced by the thought that every lump and bump on your body is now excessively highlighted for all to see and be appalled by.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now. This will come as a great shock to those who have read anything else I’ve written. I genuinely can’t believe I’m saying this but...this is a chapter where physical actions take place. 
> 
> Mind out of the gutter please - not those actions...yet. But honest to god physical movement beyond walking from one side of a room to another. 
> 
> It’s weird to think that this is literally the first thing I’ve written where that happens. It makes me wonder what I’ve been doing for the rest of my stories...
> 
> Anyway, apologies for any annoying clunkiness I am still learning.

One of the two idiot private security guards from last night is slumped on the ground in front of you, the knife that you slipped into your bag of massage props pokes out from the side of his throat. 

There’s blood, a lot of blood deliberately. You make an effort not to slip on the floor.

She looks a little shocked. Perfect. This is already going very well. You are excellent at plans.

“Wha..Why did you do that? I thought the plan was to sneak in pretending to be here for a massage?” How has she managed to make her whisper sound shrill?

You shrug. “Whatever. It just means getting out will be easier later. You grab his arms.”

You could have made her get the legs, but honestly the whole point was to shock her so why not let her get up close and personal with the inside of a human throat. 

You manoeuvre the body into a cloak room off the main hall way and take his gun before leaving and closing the door. 

Idiot number two emerges from a hallway behind her, you pull the gun, point it over her shoulder and let the quick zip of a silenced bullet take care of him. She is frozen to the spot and you know what she is thinking about. 

“Too soon?” You ask her mockingly.

You see the hurt in her face, and store it up to punish yourself with later. 

She walks toward the body and takes the gun, you’re surprised but try to keep it hidden behind your mask of casual indifference. 

As you complete a sweep of the ground floor you’re relieved that you didn’t fall in love with Old Smokey Eyes. Regardless of whether she has a boat or not. That sofa is hideous. You and her were clearly not meant to be.

As you start to climb the stairs, you hear Eve following behind you. You feel her tug lightly on the top of your masseuse outfit and draws your attention to the next oafish security guard standing on the landing but partially obscured from your eye line. 

Hold on…..are those earphones? Shit, no wonder he didn’t hear you. You cant get good help these days, poor Old Smokey Eyes, regardless of her shit sofa she deserves way better. 

The oaf at the top of the stairs is easily dispatched, and you sweep the top floor to find no other hired help. Well thats a bit of a disappointment. You glance at Eve and she looks…steady. Not what you were expecting. Maybe you’re going to have to do something extreme to Old Smokey to really get through to Eve. A pity. You’ve grown to like her, and her boat. 

Theres a mechanical noise coming from a room near the body at the top of the stairs. Eve moves behind you and tucks in close behind. In another life where you weren’t trying to save her from her own worst impulses, this whole thing might have been quite nice.

You open the door to see a woman on an exercise bike, she has headphones too. It never ceases to surprise you how even the most dangerous of people are prepared to lower their guard in their own homes. Although being entirely fair its not like you haven’t been known to do the same. You consider doing some research into alarm systems once you get back to London.

You move behind her gently. There is some movement next to you and you see Eve raise her gun toward Old Smokey. 

Hold on, what?

You turn and reach toward her to knock the gun from her hand, but not before she gets a silenced shot off which lands in the wall some way to the left of Old Smokey.

You booth freeze but Old Smokey keeps plugging away on the bike blissfully unaware.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask her in a whisper

“You know….the job?” She whispers back looking genuinely confused

“Why?” 

“Why, what?”

“Why are you trying to kill Old Smokey?” 

“Who is Old Smokey?”

You wave your hand dismissively and point at the woman on the bike

“Why are you calling her Old Smokey?”

You are both still whispering. This is ridiculous.

The noise of the bike stops. 

Oh god. 

This is it. 

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You are finally going to see what those eyes look like in real life. 

She picks up a towel slung over the handle bars and gets off the bike before turning to you and taking off the head phones.

Oh. She’s not wearing make up. Well this is a let down. You almost kill her for that alone. Being strictly fair it takes a special sort of dickhead to work out in a full face of make up, maybe you are being unreasonable.

She gives you a questioning look before glancing at your uniform. She gestures to the table on the other side of the room.

“Haven’t you set up yet?” She asks impatiently, not waiting for an answer before turning her back to you.

She’s rude too. You sigh. Maybe you were being superficial about the sofa. Maybe this really could have been something special. Meh. Maybe not.

You draw the gun from behind your back and shoot Old Smokey in the back of the head.

You turn your attention back to Eve who looks....serious. She sits on the edge of Old Smokey’s bed and looks at you appraisingly.

She’s steady and composed and it pisses you off. 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” You gesture to the bullet lodged in the wall.

She looks confused. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No? Is this why you’re here? Is this what you really came for? Another taste of death?”

“What? No!”

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I’m here because ....because you seemed like you needed.... something... reassurance...I don’t know. You’ve been off balance and....I don’t know.... The whole shooting thing was a bit spur of the moment admittedly but I just wanted....”

She struggling for the words. Good. Finally it isn’t just you who can’t adequately explain yourself.

“Tonight was meant to be about me trying to show you that I like you. This is a part of you, you don’t need to hide it from me. I know who you are.....and I like you. Alright?”

You shake your head at that.

“No. You told me you didn’t want to want this anymore so we walked and it was finished and-“

“But we turned back-“

“As a final acknowledgment-“

“No, as a new start.”

Oh. 

Ohhh.

“Well. You didn’t make that very clear.” It comes out sounding rather prim.

She laughs but it still sounds sad.

“I genuinely don’t think I could have been more clear. I just think that for some reason you haven’t wanted to see it. Something is going on with you, what is it?”

Your heckles rise at that. You’re not being weird. She’s being weird.

“Nothing.” It comes out sulky where you intended to sound sure.

“All day you’ve been sweet and ….christ even a bit shy ....and soft and...I don’t know....then since this afternoon it’s felt like we were back at the start.”

You don’t respond.

“You’re upset that I’m here?” It’s a question you realise.

You shrug.

“Why?”

You turn away to look at Old Smokey and the blood spreading into the carpet. Maybe it’s right that you and her should do your grown up feelings talk with a body cooling on the ground nearby. 

“Oksana, talk to me, please”

You hesitate. You brought her here to scare her off with death. Perhaps that was a mistake, it was love which always prompted her to run. 

Kill or cure right?

“Because I don’t want you to just want me like this, blood and death. I want more.”

She blinks at you and nods once.

“Ok. So let me take you to dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Don’t make relationship decisions based on whether or not someone (or their parents) has a boat. 
> 
> Sound advice that regrettably no one offered to my teenage self.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So .... I’ve drafted it. As in ‘it’ it. 
> 
> It was originally one thing. But then it got weirdly long, and didn’t work particularly well as I can’t seem to sensibly write long chapters.
> 
> So this bit is finished, and the other is not. 
> 
> But....it exists in some form at least.

The excellent Italian was fully booked when you arrived.

Annoying.

But you are now sitting crossed legged on the bed opposite each other eating the same good pizza as last night.

Not annoying, and actually quite fun.

“You’re lying”

“I’m not” She laughs. “You weren’t getting the hint in London so I thought sharing a room might force the issue.”

“That is…. that is actually not a terrible idea.”

She laughs before responding, “No, not until you demanded a separate room.”

“I asked very politely. And….maybe I knew what you were doing all along but I’m not that sort of girl.”

“I once chased the left overs of a threesome out of your apartment. A threesome with girls who’s names you didn’t know.”

You smile and shrug. “Who cares about names? They were all Eve to me. Anyway, maybe I’ve changed”

She hums in acknowledgment and her gaze becomes more focused. This you’ve seen before. You’ve piqued her interest.

“You have.”

You reach for more pizza, a delaying tactic.

“You said you didn’t want to do it any more.”

You know what she means, you shrug lightly. “I don’t. Not really.”

She stays silent but you can feel how much she wants to drag this from you.

“Its not fun anymore.”

“Why are you still doing it then?”

You pick an olive from the top of your pizza and eat it before answering.

“What else can I do?”

She looks sad. That isn’t what you wanted.

“Its not a big deal. I’ve done worse things than kill a couple of bad guys. Whats another few to add to the list.”

“If you don’t want to do it, then you should just…tell Carolyn to fuck off or something.”

You gesture vaguely by waving a hand in the air. “What else am I supposed to do? Im good at this. Carolyn made it clear I serve no other purpose for her and..I get to see you. So, it is not really so bad.”

She looks sad again.

“Seeing me isn’t dependent on whether or not you kill for Carolyn”

You don’t respond. She tries a different tack.

“Why isn’t it fun anymore?”

You search for another delaying tactic, you’ve eaten all the olives already.

Nothing obvious presents itself.

“I don’t like…what it makes me. Not anymore.”

You aren’t ready to give her more than that. Not at the moment.

She seems to sense that this is the end and she nods, but keeps her eyes away from yours.

She takes a breath. For courage perhaps? 

“I came with you today because I wanted to show you that I like you. I like you eating pizza and sitting on a bed, but I also like you when you kill. I wanted you to know that I can see that part of you and still like you. Before…I didn’t like what that made me. But …its what I am so I just decided to accept it.”

You laugh lightly at that.

“God, don’t sound so happy about it. Liking me can actually be quite fun.”

She smiles. “Oh I know.”

“Were you really going to kill Old Smokey just to show me that you like me?”

She huffs a little in response. “No. Or Yes. I don’t know. I hadn’t planned on it but then we were there and I thought maybe I should? That you wanted me to?”

She seems to flounder for a moment before continuing

“I mean she is literally working to undermine what remains of British democracy and .....other dickish things.”

“You didn’t read the file!” You bark out a laugh, gleeful at the thought that you’ve caught her out.

She raises her middle finger at you as she holds the wine glass to her lips.

“I don’t want you to kill people, not if you don’t want to. Even if they are dickish. There are much better things you can do to get my attention.” You tell her this with what you hope comes across as sincerity.

She puts down her wine glass and considers you for a moment.

“I want you to think I’m good at stuff like this.” She continues almost to herself, “I am good at stuff like this”

Hmm. Ok. Sometimes its easy to get trapped by the idea that you are the one who is always at a disadvantage with her. Its easy to forget that sometimes she might seek your approval too.

“You’ve got good instincts. I mean, you get ruffled too easily and you’re too tense a lot of the time but you can learn how to quieten that down. You can’t teach good instincts. Just because you are shit at killing people it doesn’t mean that I don’t know that you are good at other things.”

She looks surprised briefly then turns away embarrassed. She was less flustered when you told her that you think of her when you masturbate. Huh. Interesting. This is clearly something worthy of further consideration.

“Thanks, I think.” She says it quietly.

You smile at her. She has pizza on her face. She is fucking perfect.

You reach your hand to her face and use a thumb to wipe a bit of the sauce away, a mirror of what she did yesterday.

“I wanted..I wanted to do this last night, but I didn’t know if it was ….allowed. Then you did it without a second thought.” You offer a self depreciating shrug, “You are much more brave than me.”

She laughs. “The number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you and stopped myself undermine that theory.”

You grin and murmur and acknowledgment.

You move to sit with your back to the headboard and your legs outstretched. You wiggle your sock clad feet next to her.

“Ok. Here we are, this is the hotel room you booked for both of us. How brave are you feeling now?”

She laughs “I don’t know.”

“So come and kiss me and find out.” You tell her.

She exhales slowly, before slowly packing up the remaining pizza boxes. Then climbs back onto the bed to sit next to you, shoulder to shoulder at the head of the bed.

You imagine it fast. Normally at least. You imagine being pushed against a wall, a door, anything really, but you imagine it fast and not particularly gentle. All that passion and anger exploding after being so tightly wound for so long.

Instead it turns out to be slow. Her hand collects yours as it rests in your lap and she holds it as she leans up toward your face. You meet her half way and its slow and its gentle.

She turns toward you and puts her free hand softly against your neck, her thumb gentle stroking the skin.

This isn’t what you had expected. But you’ve been wrong about worse things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Dear Taylor released a new album. Should that have double caps? I think so.
> 
> Currently there is no other insight into my life more important than that.
> 
> Comments relating to Dear Swifty (MORE CAPS), good or bad on this chapter, anxiety regarding how terrible the next chapter may be and other exciting details of your own lives are always welcome and enjoyed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..............

Her hands are pulling ineffectually at your clothes. She could take them off, presumably she knows that. You want her to. But she keeps tugging lightly at the bottom of the horrible polyester masseuse outfit or running her thumbjust under the waist band of the matching horrible polyester trousers. 

The material alone is another excellent reason to remove them.

But she doesn’t. She keeps kissing you hungrily and you can feel her impatience in the press of her hips seeking some answering pressure, and hear it in the light sounds of want from her throat. But still she doesn’t push for the more that she now so obviously wants.

Then it comes to you. She is nervous. 

Huh.

Well shouldn’t be a huge surprise, you suppose. This has been coming for….a while and its not like she will have a wealth of experience to draw on now that it is finally here. 

Ok.

You probably should have thought of it sooner but it’s your own fears and doubts which have kept you occupied. 

“It’s ok to be a bit nervous.” You tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “I am too”.

She pulls back to look at you with an incredulous face.

“Oh please. Of course you’re not nervous.”

You grin. “Ok, no i’m not. I am excellent at this.”

“God you’re annoying.” She rolls onto her back and put an arm across her eyes.

“What? I am excellent. You should be pleased.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and she keeps her eyes hidden behind her arm.

Ok. 

Maybe this requires a softer touch.

“You want me, yes?”

She moves her arm so she can look at you. “Yes.”

“Ok. So I am yours. We can do anything you want. I just want you, doing…whatever.”

You smile at her and draw her closer so you can press a gentle kiss on her lips before pulling back slightly.

“And if you really are terrible then I am happy to play teacher until you improve.”

“Seriously? Could you try to be like 40 percent less of a dickhead please? Its killing the mood.”

How rude.

“Thats not true. You want me twice as much when I am being a dickhead. Anyway, offering to teach you how to be great at sex isn’t me being a dickhead.”

“Im pretty sure it is”

“You won’t be saying that in an hour”

“Oh my god.”

You smile at her, she’s indignant but no longer nervous.

“Come here and kiss me some more.” 

She gives you a put out look but complies. 

—————

She took the hint and the majority of both of your clothes are now off. Finally.

Her prettily flushed skin, hair frizzing slightly at the temples, the slight shake in her hands as she learns your skin. These are details that you’d never considered before. You’d been preoccupied by the obvious. Her hands, the hollow at the base of her throat, her fingers, her tits, how wet she would be. How basic of you. There is so much more here to soak yourself in than you ever imagined.

You allow your hand to drift down between you, starting to push the underwear down her legs but she stops you, and draws your attention back to her face.

“Let me go first.”

Well. What an excellent surprise.

“You’re sure? You were….nervous…”

She looks annoyed for a second, or is it something else. Determined? 

“I’m not going to be bad at this. Let me go first.”

Hmm. You make a note to be a bit more careful with your teasing in future.

“I told you. I don’t care, I just want you. I don’t care about anything else.”

That seems to annoy her more.

“No. I am going to make you feel good. Really good.”

You think back to what she said earlier about how she wants you to see that she is good at all the spy stuff. She wants you to see value in her, you realise. With work. With this. Why would she ever think that you wouldn’t? Has she always been this hungry for your approval? You don’t think you’ve ever noticed. 

You understand it now, she doesn’t want you to find it good just because its her, she wants it to be good because she is excellent. You wonder why it cant be both? 

Whatever. If this is something she wants then you are powerless to refuse.

“Ok, boss.”

You sit up and move so that her thigh is pressed between yours, and allow yourself a brief moment of indulgence to press yourself into her a few times.

She breathes out a shaky, “Fuck” and her hands drift to your hips to guide you for a few moments. 

That brings you back to the task at hand.

You dip forward again to press a kiss to her mouth and then roll until she is on top of you. She looks disorientated for a second as she sits up and you are very pleased with yourself.

You shrug as best you can whilst on your back, stretching your arms above your head. “Your turn, baby.”

Something flares in her expression and you know that this was the correct answer. 

She likes a challenge? Fine, let her believe you are one.

——-

It first occurs to you as her surprisingly adept tongue swipes at the tip of one breast and her fingers pinch at the other. 

You knew it before as an objective fact , obviously, but this is the moment it really hits home.  


There has been no one before you. Yours will be the memory that she comes back to. Your tits, your fingers, your mouth. You. 

Even once she realises that there is no great mystery to solve, nothing that can be satisfactorily fixed, when she moves on, it will still be you that she comes back to when she thinks of this act.

You envy her. For you there are countless mouths, tits, fingers, perhaps none that you want as intensely as hers but they exist in your memory none the less. If there was a way to burn them from the coils of your brain and replace them all with her you would. 

You want something with her that you’ve never had with anyone else. Something intimate shared only between the two of you, something you can keep in the same way that she has this.

You’ll make her come tonight. Sure. Obviously. You’ll make it better than she’s had before, but you’ve given that to lots of women. You want to give her something else.

You want what you’ve always wanted. 

You want her to know you, and to want you anyway. Even if that is what will eventually cause her to leave, because honestly who would stay. For now though, you want to tell her things, all your boring details, and you want her to want that too. 

Not just the blood and the bodies. You want her to know everything. You like brown rice sometimes but not all the time. You like wearing socks on the floorboards in your flat so you can slide the last few feet into the kitchen. You like orange juice with bits in. Simple details that didn’t belong to anyone but you, you now want them to belong to her.

  
“Eve, Eve. Wait. Wait a second.” You gasp it out, and press your legs together to help partially satisfy the ache.

Well. Yes. Ahem. Surprisingly adept, as you said. 

She lifts her mouth and the sight alone is enough to almost make you press her head back. Lower this time. Yes. Good plan. Must remember that for later.

But. 

There was a reason for this pause. You flounder for a moment to find the right words. 

She’s looking at you. 

Fuck. 

She’s confused.

Fuck again. 

Any words will do. 

They just have to be real.

“I ....I like ...architecture.” 

Ok, maybe not any words.

She looks at you blankly with pupils that you now see are blown. 

“Ok?”

You run a slightly shaky hand through her hair. “I just wanted to give you something I haven’t given to anyone else.”

She blinks a few times in confusion.

“Because I’m the first woman you’ve had sex with.” 

“Ok..” Still confused.

“I wanted you to have something of mine I haven’t given anyone else.” You repeat.

“You like architecture.”

You nod.

“Ok.”

She’s still hovering over you, this time with an expression you don’t recognise.

You gesture with your hand. “Continue. Please.”

She huffs out a laugh and dips her head.

—————

Her hand is occasionally too rough, or too fast too soon. It’s a thing with previously straight women. No harm really, it’s fun to teach and in the main its good. Really though, whatever she thinks, you’d still trade skill and precision for her in any form. 

“Move your palm over and up a bit” She does and you hiss out a breath and arch your hips into her hand. Perfect. 

“Fuck” She whispers in response, surprise on her face that she can evoke this reaction in you. 

A clever woman but so stupid sometimes.

“Keep going, but keep it slow, I don’t want to come yet.”

She nods before whispering, “Christ, baby, you feel so good.”

You turn to her with a grin. She looks at you for a moment, almost dazed before registering what she’s said. 

She grins back. You decide that this grin is something you will keep forever.

She keeps going until you feel her rhythm slip a bit. Unpracticed hands you remind yourself. 

Taking pity on her probably aching fingers you slip your hand around hers, pulling her fingers out and up before showing her how to make you come.

She’s a quick learner and all too soon you feel yourself tensing up, and it’s good but you want something more.

She’s watching intently at her hand between your legs, she’s breathing hard, it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Please” 

You struggle to get the word out around your own quick breaths because this feels fucking amazing and you need to come. 

She looks up at you questioningly.

“Please ....please kiss me.”

Then she’s there, kissing you and it’s messy and inelegant, and you come hard with her tongue in your mouth and your hands in her hair.

Fuck.

Maybe there is a way to burn all the others from your memories after all.

————-

She’s chatty. What a fun development.

Not specifically dirty talk, although anything she says whilst moving against your fingers like this is going to sound at least a little filthy.

She issues instructions. That’s a better way of describing it. She tells you, faster, slower, harder, softer. You’re amused to think that you probably offered her less guidance when it was her turn. Confidence looks good on her though, and if you have to follow instructions to earn the right to see that then you’re more than happy to oblige.

You can tell she’s close because the instructions have dropped off. Her fingers curl into the sheets, before a hand darts out to cup one of your tits with an urgency that can only be read as not being able to go another moment without touching you. 

Fuck. If she’d only slip her hand lower you wouldn’t need much to come again. 

You could suggest it. But you’ve got grand plans you remind yourself. Maybe next time. 

“Fuck baby, please keep going.”

Definitely next time. 

For now though you slow your hand gently. Her eyes open and her face turns up to you questioningly.

“Relax” 

You lean over her and press a long slow kiss to her mouth whilst you rearrange your position to between her legs. You feel her hand pressing into yours, prompting you to speed up again,

Huffing out a laugh, you turn your hand to pull hers away and press it to the mattress next to her head. You see her gaze catch on the obvious wetness on your fingers. You decide to bring them to your mouth and suck them clean. 

“Fuck” she gasps out as her hips arch up into nothing.

“Don’t be greedy. I’ve got you.”

As you move down her body you look up once and see her brows crease up…nervous again maybe?”

“This ok baby?” You murmur.

She hesitates before answering.

“Yeah. Um. It’s just it’s been a while.”

Stabbing that idiot man with a pitch fork is the only good thing Dasha ever did. A pitch fork through the neck is clearly the onlysuitable response to someone who doesn’t want to spend every available moment with their head between her thighs.

She runs a hand along your cheek to draw your focus back. You turn your head to kiss at her fingers.

“Ok. Lucky me then.”

Her laugh as you move down her body is another thing to be stored and kept safe.

This is familiar. This you know. The press of your mouth here. The movement of your tongue like this. Sucking at the flesh lightly there. The tremble of a thigh like that. You know the taste. You know the feel. You know all this. But doing this for her now, you see how much you had failed to catalogue with the others. 

Her fingers in your hair alternating between deliberately gentle and accidentally rough.

Her gasping pleas for you to continue, calling you baby in that soft American accent.

Her attempts to still the movement of her hips against your face.

Her strangled moan when you tell her not to hold back and encourage her back to movement. It makes it harder for you to be precise but honestly who cares when you get to feel the force of her losing control like this.

The string of unintelligible swear words when your tongue presses inside.

The sound of your name on her lips as she comes against your mouth.

Was it like that with the others? 

You have no idea.

———————————————————

You struggle to find sleep. Not a surprise really. 

Were you meant to tell her that you love her? When she choked out a strangled gasp as she came around you fingers for orgasm number whatever, was that the moment to whisper it into her ear?

Well you didn’t.

Do you even want to? She didn’t say it to you. You thought your saw something in her face once or twice, you thought she was on the edge of....something.

Well it didn’t happen so maybe you were wrong. 

It would be nice to say it though wouldn’t it? You don’t think you’d get the same reaction as before, but a polite and awkward brush off seems entirely likely.

She likes you, she wants you, this is more than you expected, maybe better not to push your luck.

But...maybe you should say it. Just for you. Just so that you can know you’ve said it to her, better than you did it last time. You could do it whilst she sleeps.

You’re going to do it. 

You’re going to.

Right now.

Be brave.

Maybe check she’s asleep first. Just to be sure.

“Eve?” You whisper.

A hand lazily slips across your stomach and she snuggles closer into your back.

“Mmm?” 

You can’t do it now. She’s not awake, but not properly asleep. This isn’t one thing or the other. Maybe another time.

You want something though, some admission from her.

The words form unrehearsed.

“This is something isn’t it?”

You wait as the words settle into the darkness of the air around you.

She leaves a sleepy kiss on your shoulder, the same place where you left her a bullet.

“Yes.”

You pull her arm tighter around you, it’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those who read Fun on Friday night, or at all, I was listening to folklaw at lunchtime whilst tinkering with this but every redraft made it more and more sad so I just had to get it out (very much at the expense of my day job)...this less melancholy version and Fun was the result.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that in fic, as in life, a kind reception to trousers is balm to an anxious soul.
> 
> So, yeah. Thanks.

You have a bad habit of giving her the wrong things at the wrong time. A knife instead of a kiss. A head-but instead of conversation. A kiss on the pavement instead of....also a conversation. Maybe there is a lesson to be learnt there.

She’s not great at it either but lately it seems to be your wrong choices that derail things so you sort of feel that you should accept your role in it.

Acknowledging that is all very well and good but it doesn’t help situations like this where you feel another misstep is ahead of you, just can’t see exactly where.

And dear god she’s annoying. Sitting there munching through her weird plate of cured meats. Literally just cured meats. Yesterday it was just cheese and now it’s just meats. Why is this a thing? Part of you wants to abandon this existential crisis you’re in the middle of and just ask; what is it with you and weird breakfast choices? 

But perhaps that’s just a cop out. Perhaps getting diverted by the weird meat plate is the misstep.

But yes, how annoying of her to sit there with her weird unnecessary meat plate like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. All whilst you feel ready to burst through your skin with every feeling that you have the words to identity simmering inside you just below the surface.

But she’s just....just sitting there....reading a french news paper. She speaks German, why not get an Austrian paper?

The more you dig yourself into this woman the more you’re sure you’ll never climb out. You’ve never been so fascinated by anything in your life. You’d like to dismiss it as nothing more than infatuation but that’s not right. That doesn’t cover it. Not even close.

Yes alright, there is an element of infatuation. Come on, she’s fucking gorgeous. And the sex? Seriously. So who wouldn’t be a little infatuated? But it doesn’t cover it at all. 

Yeah yeah, the death and the darkness drew you in but you’re here now and what you want to know is why the single category of food breakfasts? Why the french newspaper? 

You could spent the rest of your life just digging through her mind and it would never be enough.

You love her. Like ‘in love with her’ type love. You can’t even say when that became something real and tangible but it’s here now clawing at your throat and she’s reading a fucking french newspaper and eating assorted cured meats like it’s nothing.

It’s unbearable.

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever known.”

She looks up from the paper, a little startled before shifting her eyes back and forth, raising her eye brows and pointing to herself as if to say, “who me?”

Yes you, you insufferably confident wonderful asshole.

You don’t say that. You aren’t entirely sure what to follow up with but probably not that. Even you can see the misstep there.

“Ok. That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I feel...and you’re so....I don’t know.”

This is ridiculous you are an adult you should be able to have a grown up conversation about feelings.

“Why are you reading a french news paper?”

She tilts her head considering you before answering. 

“I like the way the words sound in my mind.”

“You think in french?”

“Sometimes. But if I’m reading french I’ll hear it in french in my head. Do you think in English or Korean?”

“English unless I’m talking to my mother. When do you think in French? Apart from when you’re reading it I mean.”

“Same as you, when I’m speaking it. Sometimes during sex”

You lean forward and lower your voice.

“Were you thinking in French last night?”

She laughs, leans forward and stages whispers in that way she does to tease you.

“No. You spoke English to me, so that’s the language which stuck. But you’ve only had me for one night, who knows what you’ll make me speak next time.”

She sits back and returns to normal volume. “Would you like it? If I spoke in french I mean?”

“Yes.” You answer embarrassingly quickly.

She half smiles.

“Would you speak to me in Korean?”

You laugh. “The language I reserve only for speaking to my mother?” 

She shrugs but smiles. “You don’t think we could make it sexy?”

“I think you could make anything sexy. I just don’t know if I want to be reminded of that when I’m telling my mother about the next thing for her to be disappointed about.”

There’s something on her face. Something you don’t understand. The old impulse to dig and dig and dig takes hold. You need to know everything. You open your mouth to ask but she interrupts you.

“Something happened. With my family. I want to tell you but not now. We’re having a nice breakfast and we just had some really good sex and now I just want to spend a nice day with you. Without that.”

Ok. God. Ok, not ok. You want to know. You want to know everything. You want to know this ominously dangled story. You want to know why the cured meats. You want to know if she’s always the little spoon. If she’s ever had the opportunity to be any spoon before last night.

“I love you.”

Oh. Oh fuck. That wasn’t the way you meant to tell her.

“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t meant it like that.”

She looks confused and crushed and fuck fucks safe fuck. Why are you always doing this wrong. 

“Yes. Sorry. I did mean it like that. I do love you. I just meant to say, that I want to know everything. I don’t care about your family, or I do care but whatever it is I still love you. I just....do. So, I hope that’s ok.”

She’s quiet and her eyes are watery and she blinks it away. 

“What I am allowed to say to this?”

“Whatever you want I guess?”

“I wasn’t ...I wasnt allowed to say it before.”

Fuck. This was the misstep. Telling her this without talking about the other. She needed a conversation not an awkward and mistimed declaration of love. Well it’s a lesson you both could have benefited from.

“Fuck. I’m sorry I did this wrong. It just came out. I was thinking it and it just came out.”

She nods but says nothing.

Come on. Be a grown up.

“It was a shitty thing to say to you. What I said in Rome, regardless of what happened...after. I’m sorry.”

She looks away.

“I was upset and angry and scared and I needed someone to blame and I’m really sorry.”

There’s a tear on her cheek which she pushes away angrily. You reach out to take her hand when she lowers it and the dampness burns your skin. She lets you knit your fingers around hers.

“I didn’t...” She stops and takes a breath. “I didn’t do things right in Rome and I’m sorry about that. But I did...I do...love you...but it’s the same love now as it was then. I haven’t grown a soul or whatever bullshit people say. I might not want the dark like I used to but I’m still not...right. I’m not all one thing or the other. But if you didn’t want me then, I don’t understand why you would now.”

You fucked this up worse than imagined.

“I did want you then, and I do now. I was scared. I’m really sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“We can just pretend I didn’t bring it up?”

She looks crushed again. Why can’t you get one thing right on this fucking ridiculous trip that you absolutely did not need to come on.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be upset.”

“Say it if you mean it, if you don’t then ....just this is fine. We’ve had a nice night, we’ll have a nice day and that is fine. That’s enough.”

It’s not enough though, is it. There’s an ever present layer of sadness around her, it’s been there since you saw her at the tea dance. You wonder how much of it is because of you.

The thought of it makes your chest ache. 

You don’t want this. Even when you couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time because of the pain in your shoulder, when you told yourself over and over than you hated her, even then you doubt you could have stomached this. 

You want her silly and teasing and light and sparking with childlike enthusiasm. You want her dark and seductive. You want her annoying and flippant. You want anything except this quiet self loathing.

“I do love you. Ok? Whatever you have to say back is yours until you want to give it. I’ll try not to be a dick next time.”

She nods, and swipes at another tear. 

“You were a dick.”

“I know.”

“But I did shoot you, so I probably lost the moral high ground on that.”

You laugh.

“Probably. I’m still sorry though.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It’s the first time she’s apologised for it. You still aren’t sure where you stand on that but there are probably better times to discuss it. Look at you, picking your moment. This is growth.

She seems a bit lost for what to do now, so she pick up some ham and eats it like a feral dog. Weirdo.

If not your terribly timed declaration of love, you wonder what exactly she needs in this moment. You think of the last few days, of all the missteps and your shitty attempts at communication.

She wants to be known. To be seen for what she is outside the death and bodies in her wake. Well it’s not like that’s a hardship. You want to soak up every detail. 

You’ve never been very good at giving her what she needs in the right moment.

Better late than never you suppose.

“So, architecture?”

She blinks and then nods, her mouth still occupied with the ham.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....that’s it.
> 
> Today’s inappropriate insight into my life is...speak french to me. Pretty much, whoever you are, french will work. If you speak in french I can make it work. Apologies to my mostly charming family, but neither of you speak french so....
> 
> Anyway, what’s been particularly fun on this is how chatty so many people have been. Thanks for that, without it it’s just me sitting in a bath and writing stories on my phone at 5 in the morning, which sounds infinitely more sad.
> 
> They say familiarity breeds contempt but I do hope you aren’t all entirely sick of me as there maybe something cooking. That’s good or bad news depending on your view point. As is the news that it’s in the same universe as Fun.
> 
> But yeah, thanks again. Much appreciated.


End file.
